


Touch of Time

by freshavocadosforfeetpics



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:16:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23078029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshavocadosforfeetpics/pseuds/freshavocadosforfeetpics
Summary: Clara Ward has lived by many names and titles in her life.Some have been less than flattering, like dirty thief, cruel murderer, filthy witch or immortal bitch.But there is one name she could never truly give up. The only name that was actually true.Merlin.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Touch of Time

Clara couldn't remember the last time she had a celebratory drink, and so that was where she found herself. Out the front of a beaten down, water logged saloon, in a horse shit excuse for a town. She shook her head slightly, what a fall from grace humanity had become. It was times like this she missed her friends and her home the most.

Slinking into the saloon, out of the pouring rain at last, skilfully avoiding the squeaky floorboard in order to avoid any and all attention. She knew that her form would likely pull attention to her, black hood pulled over her head, head titled low and shoulders hunched.

The young woman made her way to the end of the bar, where the shadows clung to the walls and where no one stood. Flicking a few coins onto the counter top, the bartender hesitantly poured her a whiskey after a grunted request.

Clara spared a brief moment to wonder if anyone in the bar knew she was a woman, as the male species had become quite fickle over time. It wasn't a stretch to say that Clara missed the times of Camelot under her king's rule. A stiff pain striked her shoulder again and she reached a tentative hand upwards to touch at the wound, blood coming away, which she promptly wiped on her dark pants. She sipped the liquor slowly, peering around the room silently. 

A few men sat playing poker. She considered joining for a moment but it would be too much of an effort to weasel her way in as a woman. The pianist was obviously long gone at this hour, in fact there were hardly any workers around. The hour was later than even the biggest party animals were gone or passed out and was too early in the morning to pull in the alcoholics. The peaceful amount of time seen rarely.

Well peaceful for a moment. Just her luck, she supposed as a group of men stalked in muddy and wet, scowls on their faces. There was four of them, all walking with the same swagger akin to a cowboy, obviously not civilised folks. One of them was very familiar, for he and one other was not nearly as muddy as the other two, a man named Hosea Mathews, an acquaintance from going on twenty years ago. Clara quelled the brief surge of panic, why would he remember her? A face that hasn't aged in a very, very long time. 

Much to the woman's disgust, the group headed towards her section of the bar, stopping a short few metres. Far enough so that she should not be able to hear but still sharing the shadows of the bar.

The one closest to her was Hosea, of course it would be, who would see nothing but black material. Like the fool she was, Clara tilted her head at the same time and caught his eyes with her own. Blue met brown so dark it could be black. Clara held back a wince. The man studied her for a moment and Clara was quick to avert her eyes and lean her body away from him.

"You know." Hosea began to speak, catching the attention of his entourage, all eyes turning to her. "I'm not know to forget a face."

Clara sighed slightly. One of the other men, dressed finely with a thick moustache, raised an eyebrow. "You know them, Hosea?"

"Mr Mathews, I must say it has been a while, wasn't sure if you would remember me." Clara begrudgingly turned towards the group, leaning against the bar, the perfect picture of calm.

"How could I forget the girl who saved me from a jail cell?" Hosea smiled warmly at her, as the others looked on in confusion. "How long has it been 10, 20 years?"

"20, I believe." Clara pulled her hood down, a tumble of long, black hair following it. 

"Oh very funny, Hosea." Yet another man raised his voice. He leaned fully on the bar, not making any particular attempt to face the conversation. "She looks hardly older than that."

"Looks can be deceiving, my friend." 

"Do I know you?"

"I'm Clara."

"So I don't know you."

"No."

"Yet you called me friend."

"That was my mistake."

"Yes, I think so."

"Yeah, I'd never have a friend that could be such an ass."

Clara had hardly noticed that she had once had that exact conversation, her first meeting with her greatest friend.

Hosea coughed on his drink, laughing. "Clara, allow me to introduce you to my good friends, Dutch, Charles and Arthur."

Clara paused slightly at the last one. "A pleasure I suppose. Lovely name, Arthur that is."

"Likewise." The man from before replied gruffly before turning straight back to his drink.

"So, you mentioned that you met 20 odd years ago." The last man piped up, Charles. "How is that possible? No offence but you look much to young, unless you were a child at the time."

"You some kind of witch, or somethin'?" Arthur mumbled.

"Something like that." Clara grinned fiercely. "Some would call it good genetics, others good health, or perhaps both Hosea and I are bad at counting."

"Do you remember the first time we met?" Hosea changed the subject, the other men looking particularly confused however. 

A bright, light laugh left her lips, and she failed to notice the tilt of Arthur's head, as though he heard something peculiar. "First time someone tries to hang me? How could I forget that?"

The well dressed man, Dutch she recalled, raised an eyebrow at her. "Hanged?"

"Ahhh the locals didn't take to kindly to my magic tricks."

Hosea coughed on a laugh, "Magic tricks?! You nicked three mens' wallets and took off, all the while claiming it was all just an illusion."

"Give me some credit, friend. I would have got away from it if you hadn't chased me down, which I'll be honest, was quite rude of you." She directs a smile towards him. "Those were the days."

"Those were the days." He nodded in agreement. "Looks like the years have done you better than me."

"So how old are then miss?" Dutch asks.

"523." Clara answers with a wink.

"Very funny." 

"I know." Clara opens her mouth to continue before cutting herself off. 

Something's coming. 

"Fuck." Clara throws back the rest of her drink before pulling her hood back over to hide her features. "I must be going boys. Trouble coming. Hosea, it's good to see you again, send a letter to Marilyn Worth if you ever need another hand on an 'extracurricular activity'. And it was a pleasure to meet you all." Clara gives a small two finger salute before flicking a few coins onto the bar and sauntering out of the bar without another word.

Hosea smiles warmly at her retreating figure. The rest of the men turn to look at him.

"That's Clara for you. Comes in like a whirlwind, there one second and gone the next." 

"So, you gonna explain how you knew her twenty years ago?"

Hosea glances around the bar. "I don't think you would believe me, but I can tell you the story she told me. Just not here. I'll tell you all back at camp."

"You heard the man, split up, head back at different times." Dutch allowed authority into his voice. "Then we'll get our bed time story."

Arthur rolled his eyes, already fed up with the conversation. He didn't like the feeling of familiarity he got from the woman, and he definitely didn't like the mystery.

So much for a simple drink after a long day's work. God his head hurts.


End file.
